


Prototype: Sympathy (One-Shot)

by PumpkinSpite



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 90ies AU, Feedback Wanted, M/M, One Shot, Present Day AU, just playing around with a concept right now, kinda sorta, maybe a bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7563382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinSpite/pseuds/PumpkinSpite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Place a bomb, blow up the place - simple enough of a job. Or that's what Junkrat thought...<br/>(Prototype of the concept for "Sympathy")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prototype: Sympathy (One-Shot)

Junkrat had a complicated relationship with his own face. On some days it was almost like his mug was grinning down from every house corner, electric pole and blackboard, no matter where he went. Sometimes it felt like a taunt, a bitter reminder, that there is no place in the world he'll ever feel completely safe again. On the other side, the posters filled him with a strange kind of pride. Memories of big and bright explosions in many shades and forms flicked in front of his inner eye, which always gave him a weird sense of accomplishment. Because he knew exactly, why this blast's smoke was white and not black, why this bomb was obviously made with a binary explosive or why it's probably a bad idea to use this much gunpowder for a single little popper. It was the only thing he knew he was good at. That's probably why it was oddly exciting for him to work in his line of business. Sure, it wasn't legal, not at all, but at least he can do what he can do best. Besides, what would life be without a little bit of danger, after all?

He pulled down the mug shot of him and his partner from the wall and crumpled it up into a small ball. That way it sure wouldn't do any harm. With a lax motion of his peg leg he kicked the ball away from him and followed the former wanted poster roll for a few inches and than being carried away by the late afternoon breeze, until a deep voice pulled him back into reality.  
„Got them.“  
A mountain of a man dressed in a leather jacket walked up to him. His face was hidden behind a mouthpiece and huge, black shades. In his enormous hands, he held what looked like two collars with tickets hanging on their ends.  
Junkrat showed all of his yellow teeth in a big grin. „Took ya long enough, old lug.“ he said, graped a hold onto one of them and let the plastic-wrapped piece of paper dangle in front of his nose. It looked like a concert ticket alright, like the suit told them.  
Just like his friend, Junkrat put the thing around his neck and started to play with it through his lanky fingers.  
„Ya think they give away free stuff for V.I.P.s, Hog? Oi could use a few drinks or two.“ the blonde said and started to giggle to himself as if he just told an amazing joke.  
It was hard to figure out, what Hog's reaction to Junkrat's question was, but the shrugging shoulders were answer enough for him. Despite his size, Roadhog was never a man of big words, Junkrat figured that out within the first few days they started to work together. Not a problem, he can talk for both of them.

Strangely enough, Fortuna seemed to be on the side of the Australian men this evening. Even though the image of a big, fat man with a cute piggy mouthpiece and a biker outfit, accompanied by a tall, lanky blonde missing two limbs and smelling of soot and dynamite should have set off someone's alarm, they pretty much got invited into the building by a very stressed looking security. They didn't even check their bags. The miracles of document forgery it seems. For their first big job, this sure as hell started out very easy.  
They walked along a corridor, making sure none of the cameras could pick up their visages, as they made their way to the backstage area. In the distance, Junkrat could hear murmurs coming from the front. A few concert goers seemed to have already entered the concert hall as well.  
„Be careful, will you?“ the big man said, when Junkrat walked up to a door and poked his head out. He watched the people walk from the open entries towards the snack shops and into the big hall.  
„Oi! Oi'm always careful!“ the blonde protested, pulled his head back in and looked down the hallway.  
„Awright, big guy. oi go ahead and set up that baby and you watch out for anything fishy, right?“. Hog just nodded and left through the door Junkrat earlier looked through.  
„Bring me a tall one, will ya!“ he yelled after him, before the door fell shut.  
Now for the fun part.

Surprisingly swift, Junkrat made his way down the corridors, passing multiple “Staff only”-doors on his way, while trying to avoid running into people. He tried to limp less than he usually did, which was surprisingly hard with his self-made peg-leg. His height was already a striking characteristic, a goofy walk would make him memorable. No need to look suspicious and all. Finding a good spot to hide the little pipe bomb he build last night with lots of care and love should be easy, the backstage of that bloody place felt like a maze to the disoriented merchenary. He peeked over his shoulder, checking if someone was looking after him. No? No. Good. He took the corner to the right and...  
„AUH!“  
Junkrat hit metal. Something fell onto the ground and made a horrible noise. Junkrat held his belly in pain. He ran into something really hard, so much that it poked him right into the guts.  
„Son of a -!“ he started to swear and looked after what had caused him the pain.  
A wheelchair lay on its side, one wheel still spinning. Next to it was a young man with long, thick dreadlocks trying to get back up from the ground.

Well, that didn't go as planned. Even though Junkrat wasn't too sure of what his exact plan was to begin with. But it sure as hell didn't include running into a disabled person and throwing them out of their wheelchair. Too much attention. Better play the nice guy now!  
„Sorry, mate.“ he said, climbed over the wheelchair and bent over to the person on the floor, “Didn't saw ya there.”  
The guy was surprisingly tiny, especially with his legs missing from his knees downward and especially in comparison to Junkrat. With a quick motion, the guy sat up and started to rub the side he must have fallen onto, when Junkrat kicked him out of his seat. He smiled at the blonde.  
“Naw, it's fine, man.” he said, showing off an accent, that rivaled with Junkrat's in thickness, “Shouldn't have just stopped in the middle of the hall.”  
Junkrat threw a quick look at the wheelchair and placed it back into its originally intended position, wheels on the ground. The guy grinned at him again.  
“Thanks!” he exclaimed and used his arms to slip across the floor towards his seat.  
“Ya need help?” the Australian asked to his own surprise. He didn't need a suspicious witness, so he might as well leave a good impression. Well, as good as it was physically possible for him.  
“Naw, I'm cool.” the guy said and climbed up to get back into his preferred position. Junkrat supported the wheelchair with his hand, so it didn't jitter around that much. He remembered wheelchairs were always an annoyance for him, because they were so wonky and very hard to handle.  
“Awh, man.” the guy said, when he finally sat down. He turned around spinning the wheels and looked up to the blonde, again showing a big smile.  
“That's what you get for leaving your prosthesis at home, huh?” he meant jokingly.  
Junkrat tried not to grimace. Is that guy trying to start a conversation now? He doesn't have time for that. Hog was waiting outside, keeping the way clear for an easy escape. He doesn't have the time to chit-chat with a strange black guy in a wheelchair. “Oi.” he just responded a second later, trying to avoid eye contact. Maybe that would break the guy's spirit.  
“I haven’t seen you around before. Are you a roadie?”  
Guess not.  
“Ah, nope. Oi'm a guest or...somethin'.” the Australian said and showed off his ticket.  
The black guy whistled impressed. “V.I.P., ey? Lucky you. All alone?”.  
The Australian shook his head and tried his best to not grimace. “Me mate is getting' some drinks...”.  
Great. Now he was captured by the social expectation to hold a conversation with someone he almost run over. Because that's what he is here for, casual conversations in strange hallways. Junkrat started to tip around with his peg leg, he became a bit restless. The guy in the wheelchair didn't seem to pick up on it though. He crossed his surprisingly muscular arms and gave the tall blonde one a doubtful look.  
“So instead of going up to the nice boxes with the nice seats and the free drinks, you prefer to sneak around behind stage?”  
Now Junkrat couldn't help but make a face.  
“Duh-uhm, oi'm just not made for all that fancy-pantsy stuff, ya know? Thought oi might just, ya know, take a walk, move those feet a bit...well, that one foot.”  
He pointed downwards and the guy's eyes wandered along his legs to his peg leg. “Oh.” he said with a surprised face and suddenly started to chuckle a bit. It was...weirdly memorizing.  
Junkrat was always the kind of guy pulling a joke or two, but rarely someone but him would laugh it them. The corner of his lips twitched a bit.  
The guy came a little closer and seemed to inspect the peg leg.  
“You made that yourself, bro?” he asked curiously.  
“Oi. All hand-made.” the Australian proclaimed proudly. He knelt down to roll up the shorts covering part of the knee joint. “Took me a few months and a lotta patience!”  
The wheelchair man viewed the prosthesis with big enthusiasm.  
“Man, that's cool..” he said and looked back up into Junkrat's face. “Takes skill to make your own prosthesis. Almost makes me a bit jealous. Than I wouldn't have to pay that much for repair, haha.”  
Again, Junkrat's lips formed a little smile, mimicing the guy's big grin. Suddenly, he held up his hand towards the tall one.  
“Name's Lúcio. And you are?”  
“Oi – eh.” that question came so much out of nowhere, it startled Junkrat. He can't exactly use his alias. Well, there is only one way to go left.  
“Jamison.” he finally said and shook Lúcio's hand a little to manically. “Pleased to meet ya, mate.”  
Lúcio showed another friendly smile. “Same here.”

It was supposed to take only a few minutes. Ten maybe, or fifteen. But now, Junkrat was sitting there on the side of a hallway, talking to a complete stranger in a wheelchair. It felt like they spent almost half an hour just chatting – about prosthesis and how to take care of them or about the building or about their jobs. Of course Junkrat didn't really tell Lúcio he was a professional pyromaniac for hire. He used the more floral term 'demolition man'. He also used it as an excuse to explain the loss of both his arm and leg.  
“That sounds harsh.” Lúcio commented.  
“Ah!” Junkrat made a hand motion as if he wanted to wave away an annoying fly. “Could be worse. What about you, mate?”  
Lúcio tilted his head in confusion. “Me? Uh...well, that's a long story, dude.” the black guy said and threw his dreadlocks behind his back with a swift move of the head. “Let's just say, I had an accident back home in Brazil a few years ago.”  
Junkrat looked at him with a confused face. It took Lúcio a moment to realize, why he was staring.  
“Oh! Oh, you mean my job! Well, I'm a musician. Actually I'm performing here tonight.” , “Really?” the tall one asked with a honest tune of awe in his voice.  
Lúcio nodded, “Yeah, you know...actually I didn't want to. You know, the organizers had to cut the fees for the artists. The rent for this place is just...too much. They kept raising it the most tickets they sold for some reason. Which sucks, because this is a charity event after all.”  
Lúcio leaned onto the wheelchair's armrest and seemed to pout a bit. “First big gig and I virtually work for free. But it's for a good cause, that's all that matters, you know?” The small guy looked up to Junkrat's face.  
“Uh...is something wrong?”  
Junkrat had a realization.  
The job.  
The suit said 'Make it look like an accident. Makes it easier to squeeze the fees out of them.'  
Any living targets?  
'If someone gets hurt, so be it. We'll pin it onto those idiots somehow.'  
He looked down at the floor. He was confused. Suddenly, the idea of setting off a bomb in this place seemed...wrong? He never felt this way before. He never thought an explosion could be misplaced somehow. But now...he just spent well over thirty minutes talking with that little guy. This surprisingly open and sweet person. He laughed at his jokes, he talked with him about music and his peg leg. He was here to do good. He didn't need to be here. He shouldn't be here, when the bomb goes off.

“He!”  
A familiar voice echoed down the hallway and an equally familiar mouth showed up at the corner. Oh shit. They are behind their schedule.  
“Ah, oi, t-there is my mate!” Junkrat said and got back up on his legs. “Oi better should get goin' and all.” he meant and brushed off some dirt from his shorts.  
“Ah, sorry for holding you back, buddy!” Lúcio said. “But I should get in motion, too. Have fun at the show, Jamie, yeah?”  
This sounded more like a request than an actual statement.  
Junkrat just nodded, took his bag and waved at Lúcio. “Yeah, yeah, sure! No worries! See ya!” he stumbled with a hint of panic in his voice and almost jumped over to Roadhog, who then walked ahead to lead the way back through the hallway. With one last look over his shoulder, Junkrat watched Lùcio making his way along the corridor towards the stage.

“Did you hide it well?” the big guy asked. Junkrat made a face again.  
“Naw. Couldn't. Don't think this job is worth it getting' caught, mate.”  
Roadhog stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned around. “All the sudden?”  
Junkrat pressed his one fist against his side. “Oi changed me mind, okay? But...oi do have a better idea...listen...”

 

There were still sparks raising up into the night sky, as Junkrat and Roadhog sat on top of the concert hall, each of them with a drink in their hand, watching the flames raise from that skyscraper in the distance. Again, the fuzzy feeling of pride spread through Junkrat's body. He showed off a goofy grin.  
“Too bad we couldn't stay up close, ey?” Junkrat said. “Would have loved to see that bloak's face, watchin' how his precious little company just goes down in flames, heheheh!”  
He laughed manically and took a celebratory gulp through the straw.  
Hog turned his head towards his partner. “It was that kid you talked to, hm? He changed your mind?”  
Junkrat looked up to his friend while chewing on his boba.  
“Wha- no! Oi just...realized, that it would be a dick move to blow up a charity concert, so that some suit can buy his third helicopter or somethin'.”  
The big man gently shook his head, taking a gulp from his drink himself.  
Junkrat watched over the skyline, smoke and sparks partly covering the view, while underneath them, inside the hall, people were dancing and celebrating life to Lúcio's music.  
“Dude's music is not bad, ey, Hog?” Junkrat asked and just like earlier, the man just responded with a shrug.  
A firetruck drove by and towards the former explosion. Junkrat took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Quietly, his ears, though damaged through many explosions, were able to pick up the sounds from inside the hall. He saw Lúcio's face in front of him, saw how he was smiling at the audience, joyful and without a care in the world. And for a moment, he was jealous.  
“Been a while somebody called me Jamie.” he mumbled, barely noticeable.  
Under his mouthpiece, Roadhog started to smile.


End file.
